


Chapstick

by Chrysochloridae



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gallifrey, Gift Giving, Kissing, M/M, Tissue Compression Eliminator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysochloridae/pseuds/Chrysochloridae
Summary: The Doctor and the Master meet again in the corridors of the Gallifreyan capitol. One aspect of their meeting isn't as pleasant as the Doctor had hoped it would be. Luckily, he has something that will help remedy that.
Relationships: Fourth Doctor/The Master (Beevers), Fourth Doctor/The Master (Pratt), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Chapstick

“I thought our class reunion wasn’t for another half century, yet here you are, and would you believe me if I told you I bumped into Runcible not five minutes ago?” The Doctor leaned forward, breath ghosting over the Master’s oversensitive skin, “Did you know he's working as a Public Register Video broadcaster these days?”

If the Master could have rolled his eyes with more gusto, they would've become fixed permanently backwards in their sockets. “My congratulations, Doctor,” he grunted, “for having the most athletic pair of lips in the universe.” He took another measured step forward, forcing the Doctor closer to the smooth, shadowy wall of the foyer.

“Why, thank you.” The Doctor’s curls bounced as his head knocked the wall behind him. The cool touch of the Master’s TCE against his jaw made his eyes widen. “You won’t gain anything by killing me, you know. Neither will I, of course, but . . . Oh, gently, gently, man, this ensemble is the finest Sector 8023 has to offer. I’d hate for it to get wrinkled.” He swatted at the skeletal hand twisted in the front of his shirt.

“Hush!” the Master hissed, jabbing his TCE into the Doctor’s skin.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you that it’s rude to point things at people?” the Doctor grumbled, feebly trying to turn his head away from the Master’s weapon. “Well, perhaps . . .” he fell silent at the echoes of advancing footsteps. The Master crowded him impossibly closer to the wall as a branch of the Chancellery Guard marched past. He released a very audible sigh of relief once they'd gone and peeled himself off of the Doctor.

“Now,” he growled, adjusting his grip on his TCE in preparation to level it once more at his captive. He froze.

The Doctor had crowded his face inside the front of the Master’s hood. With a sharp inhale that burned his shriveled lungs, the Master gawked at his adversary’s leer. The Doctor’s warm breath tickled his lips as he whispered, “You’re standing on my foot.”

The Master scoffed but shifted his stance anyway. “Do shut up.”

“Hm. You aren't exactly a master of silence, either, are you? I have an idea that might shut us both up for a bit — kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

Before the Master could demand clarification, the Doctor sealed their mouths together. With a grunt, the Master subconsciously leaned forward, straining to move his cracked lips against the Doctor’s plump, lush ones. He hardly registered the sudden pain in his chest where the Doctor’s hand had splayed and was desperately shoving him backward until he was forced to break the kiss, stumbling to keep his balance.

The Doctor doubled over, spluttering and scrubbing at his lips. “Certainly not my brightest idea,” he bit out between aggressive swipes of his sleeve across his mouth. Still reeling from the events of the past few moments, the Master gaped at the Doctor as he recovered himself and plunged a hand into his trouser pocket, muttering, “I’ve got just the thing.” A moment later, he raised his voice a bit to declare, “Now, before you go smothering somebody else with that withered old gob of yours, try this.” The Doctor pressed a small plastic cylinder into the Master’s hand, closed his fingers around it, and gave it a patronizing pat.

“What is this?” the Master muttered, rolling the trinket between his fingers and raising it to eye-level.

The Doctor beamed. “It’s a rather lovely Earth invention. Well now, I hope you’ll forgive me, but I really must dash.” In a flurry of color, the Doctor slipped around the Master, bounded to the end of the corridor, and disappeared around the corner. His scarf trailed behind him, sweeping the floor in a neat arc before vanishing.

In a daze, the Master squinted at the colorful label on the side of the tube the Doctor had given him. “Chapstick?” He stashed it in the pocket of his robe, only half-hoping that the fabric wasn’t so tattered that the Doctor’s gift would fall out of a hole in it, and set off in the direction of his TARDIS. He’d had enough of an adventure for one day. There was always tomorrow to conquer Gallifrey.


End file.
